


Domestiqué

by laurxnts, vannes



Series: More Landmarks, Less Landmines [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Breakfast, Can be read as a stand alone, Domestic Bliss, Fluff and Humor, Laurent / Damen / Victor / Yuuri Are Concerned Dads of Nicaise and Yurio, Laurent POV, M/M, Nicaise Is An Asshole, the ot6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurxnts/pseuds/laurxnts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannes/pseuds/vannes
Summary: “I’m going to kill you,” Yurio cries, almost knocking over his chair as he gets to his feet.“This is nice,” Yuuri says mildly as Nicaise and Yurio flee into the next room. “We hardly ever have breakfast all six of us.”-AKA the group wind down together after an intense competitive skating season and bask in small, domestic delights together.
  Can be read as a stand-alone!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a mild warning for anyone who gets squeamish over vomiting or out of date food; there's some very mild references to it in one of the scenes. Other than that, this is an easy going instalment!

i. 

 

It is the end of an incredibly long week, and they’re sprawled across all the soft surfaces of Damen and Laurent’s living room, staring at the flicker-bright light of the television screen. The room has darkened around them; the milky white of the Paris sky outside melting away to a dark canvas, so cloudy that it blocks out the stars. None of them had the energy to get up and switch the lamps on, so they had let the living room slowly sink into shadows as they all watched the television switch from one movie in the series to the next.

    They don’t engage in movie marathons very often—the first and only attempt had been Lord of the Rings, which had been abandoned halfway through once everyone had proven their inability to tolerate Nicaise and Yurio together for more than four hours—but since one of the most difficult competitive seasons had just drawn to a close, none of them had the energy to do anything else but sit and mindlessly watch something.

    “All right,” Yurio says with a yawn. Laurent looks up from where he had half-fallen asleep against Damen’s thick form. “I’m done here. If I have to spend another minute with you guys I’m going to blow my brains out.”

    “Goodnight, Yurio,” Yuuri’s voice mumbles from the semi-darkness, from somewhere in the direction of the armchair.

    In the television lit room, Laurent watches Yurio’s silhouette clamber to his feet, his movement sluggish with exhaustion. He and Damen have the sofa, Yuuri and Victor took the armchair, and Yurio and Nicaise took the floor in front of the television, none of them moving until they had made it from the first Harry Potter movie right up until the end credits of Prisoner of Azkaban.

    “We can watch the rest tomorrow?” Victor asks, his voice thick with sleep too.

    “Do we not get a break from seeing your ugly faces _ever?”_ Nicaise gets to his feet too. “I’m taking this as permission to leave too.”

    “You can stay,” Laurent says, suddenly feeling a little more awake at the thought of Nicaise walking across Paris alone in the dark. His skin prickles with it, the thought of heavy hands in unfamiliar alleyways. He sits up straight, pulling himself away from Damen’s warmth, exposing himself to the winter chill of the room. “You know we have two spare bedrooms; you are always welcome to stay.”

    Even in the semi-darkness, Laurent can see the crease of Nicaise’s eyebrows. Laurent always feels particularly transparent when talking to Nicaise. “I’m not a child.”

    “I never said—”

    “You don’t have to treat me like a child,” Nicaise says, folding his arms. His figure is silhouetted by the LED of the television behind him and it casts an odd glow on the rest of the group. Yuuri clears his throat, as if to dispel the awkwardness, and remind Laurent and Nicaise that they’re not alone. Laurent blinks, letting out a breath.

    “I would prefer it if you didn’t walk home alone,” Laurent says, forcing his tone to sound impassive. “Not because I think you’re a child. Because Paris isn’t safe. No city is safe at night.”

    “It’s alright,” Yurio interjects, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on. “I’ll walk him home. If I have to listen to you jabber on like a protective parent any longer, I’m going to puke.”

    “You’re younger than he is,” Damen says plainly, and Laurent feels strangely thankful that he isn’t the only one concerned.  “Look, just call a cab or something at least.”

    “All _right_!” Yurio snaps, pulling out his phone. “Fuck, you all do this every time! Nicaise and I will get a cab, are you all happy now? Ugly bunch of old men.”

    “Yuuri and I didn’t even say anything,” Victor says, mildly offended, and Laurent shoots him a glare.

    “Don’t pretend to be on our side, asshole,” Nicaise says casually, shrugging his own coat on and picking up his bag. He winds his scarf around his neck and ties it. “Last time it was you offering us to drive us to the movie theatre because you _didn’t want us walking alone.”_

    “You don’t even drive,” Yuuri snorts.

    “It just sounded like a nice thing to offer, I knew they would turn me down,” Victor says with an over-exaggerated sigh.

    “Can you turn on the lamp on your way out, guys?” Damen asks and Yurio grumbles, but willingly switches on the lamp anyway. The room is bathed in amber: illuminating the sight of Yurio and Nicaise stood by the door with their coats on; the sight of Victor and Yuuri bundled up together on the armchair with Makkachin sleeping soundly on the rug in front of them; and the sight of the utter mess of Laurent’s living room. The empty packets food littered on the floor in front of the television can only be the work of Yurio and Nicaise, and Laurent decides if they weren’t teenagers, he would hate them.

    “I am not cleaning that up until tomorrow,” Laurent says, tiredly.

    Yurio swings his arm across Nicaise’s shoulders. “We’re leaving. I hope we never fucking see you again.”

    “See you tomorrow,” everyone choruses back, and Yurio and Nicaise both let out a distasteful groan.

    “I hope I never fucking see them _or you_ again, actually,” Laurent vaguely hears Nicaise say once the two of them are out in the hall. And then, the door clicks shut and the rest of Yurio and Nicaise’s conversation is muffled and incoherent.

    “What about you two?” Damen says, pulling Laurent back a little so that Laurent’s weight is once again pressed to the thick line of Damen’s chest. Laurent lets out a hum, leaning back into Damen’s warmth. “We can stay up a little longer now that the kids have gone to bed. Or are you two going to head home too?”

    “Nicaise is eighteen,” Yuuri says with a laugh. “But I don’t know, I’m pretty exhausted.” He turns his head so that he’s looking at Victor, his fingertips absentmindedly tracing patterns on the back of Victor’s neck. “What do you want to do?”

    “Mm,” Victor lets out a happy hum, and Laurent thinks that Victor isn’t listening to the conversation at all. “If that’s what you want to do, we’ll do it.”

    Yuuri slaps him on the back of the head. “I asked what you wanted to do!”

    “Ow,” Victor frowns, opening his eyes properly so that he can give Yuuri a scornful look. Laurent smirks and unthinkingly finds Damen’s hand as it rests on Laurent’s abdomen. He laces their fingers together, and lets himself smile when Damen squeezes his hand.

    “We could stay,” Yuuri says.

    It isn’t an uncommon occurrence at all for them to stay together; whenever they’re at Victor’s house, there’s enough space for all six of them to stay and sometimes, they spend days on end at Victor’s house. It has reached the point that they have their designated bedrooms, with some of their things left there in case an impromptu stay occurs again. The occurrence is less regular at Damen and Laurent’s apartment; the place is smaller, and closer to the city centre which grants everyone easier access to go to their own places. Nevertheless, it isn’t rare for at least Victor and Yuuri to stay the night if they have let the evening run on too long.

    The tradition stretches back right to Victor and Laurent’s younger years, to the days when they skated in Junior Division together. Laurent would spend hours in Victor’s hotel room, long enough that he would be too exhausted to send Laurent back to his own room. He remembers it well; _accidentally_ letting their conversations run on too long until they were sluggish with sleep; a tactic that meant he did not have to spend that night in the hotel room with his uncle.

    He shifts, blinking the memory of Uncle and Junior Division out of his mind. In the armchair across the room, Victor is twenty eight now, and Laurent is thankful that their teenage friendship lasted long into adulthood.

    “Yeah, the spare room is set up,” Damen says, his fingers brushing a pattern across Laurent’s hand that makes Laurent feel sleepy. “I think Laurent is falling asleep, we should crash soon.”

    “M’not,” Laurent replies, but he can hear the heaviness of his own voice.

    “It’s eleven thirty,” Victor says, pulling out his phone to check the time and blinking at the white light. Laurent watches it illuminate his face, casting unflattering shadows across his complexion. He barely stifles a yawn as he says, “You are all… lightweights.”

    “You’re almost thirty, dude,” Damen says, his voice rumbling against Laurent’s back as he laughs. “Let it go, you’re not young anymore.”

    “You _are_ thirty, Damen,” Yuuri says and Laurent can feel the huff of breath that comes from Damen. “Anyway, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

    Laurent does not move out of Damen’s arms as they watch Yuuri and Victor retreat to the spare bedroom that they always occupy when they stay the night, and Laurent lets out a content sigh when the door clicks shut behind the two of them. He feels heavy and warm with sleep, and with Damen’s heart beating a steady rhythm against Laurent’s back, Laurent thinks he could fall asleep here. He turns his head to the side, his cheek resting against Damen’s collarbone.

    “Are you falling asleep?” Damen asks, his voice low. Laurent can hear Victor and Yuuri’s murmured voices coming from the next room, and something about that alone is oddly comforting.

    “No,” Laurent says, but the statement is a flat-out lie. Damen’s laugh rumbles through him in the places where their bodies press together and then Damen’s lips are tracing across Laurent’s hairline. “I will be...  if you keep doing that.”

    “That’s alright,” Damen says, his lips fluttering across Laurent’s forehead. “It’s been awhile since I’ve carried you to bed.”

    Laurent lets out a snort, something akin to laughter, and pulls himself up. “Alright, I am awake.”

   The idea of Damen carrying him to bed sets off a whole plethora of feelings in Laurent’s chest: a little spark of heat emerges under all of it at the idea of Damen’s strong arms picking him up effortlessly, but overall the consensus in Laurent’s mind is that he isn’t so pathetic that he would need _carrying_ to bed. He can make his own way perfectly fine. He’s been carried to bed by Damen before, only when he had pushed himself too far for days and his body had given up in inopportune places; the armchair, or the straight backed desk chair in their bedroom. Damen carried him then. If he burns out on the sofa, Damen covers him with a blanket and leaves him be.

    Laurent leans on the wall of their bedroom when they enter, watching with a neutral gaze as Damen strips out of his clothing. His hands slide into his own pockets, and through the wall behind him, he can hear Victor and Yuuri talking.

    “I thought you were tired,” Damen says, tugging back the covers of the bed and getting in.

    “I am,” Laurent pushes himself from the wall, slowly stripping himself of his clothing and folding them. He feels acutely aware of Damen’s eyes on him, and forces himself not to care. “Do you remember a year ago, before Victor and Yuuri started renting that house here?”

    “Yeah,” Damen says, raising one of his eyebrows. “What about it?”

    “Victor had that house out in St. Petersberg. It was big enough for all of us to stay between seasons, and none of us had anywhere else to go. We spent weeks just… living there. All six of us,” Laurent says, climbing into the bed beside Damen once he is undressed.

    “Yeah,” Damen lets out a soft hum. “I remember.”

    “That was nice,” Laurent shifts a little closer, and lets Damen pull him down into his arms. The warmth of Damen’s skin feels nice compared to the coolness of fresh blankets against bare skin. “I liked that.”

    “Are you saying you wanna move to St. Petersberg?” Damen laughs softly, and his fingers run patterns across the back of Laurent’s neck. Laurent only just represses the silly, happy noise that threatens to escape. “Because, honestly, I would rather not live in Russia.”

    “No,” Laurent says. “Neither would I. It was just nice. To have them around all the time.”

    “You’re tired, Laurent,” Damen says, pressing his lips to Laurent’s forehead. “You should go to sleep.”

    “Mm,” Laurent can’t manage any other response, his eyes sliding shut as he listens to the solid thud of Damen’s heart. His words come out slurred and almost incoherent when he says; “M’just not… used to having family.”

    Laurent barely notices the stillness of Damen’s fingers before he resumes his caress of Laurent’s skin. “You’ve got us now.” Damen whispers, but Laurent is barely awake to hear it.

* * *

ii. 

 

    Laurent blinks, trying to focus his vision on the book splayed open on the table in front of him. His eyes are gritty, like sandpaper with every drag of his lids when he blinks. He stifles a yawn behind the press of his hand, the words blurring in front of them.

    “Have you fixed that coffee machine yet?” Laurent says, sliding his bookmark into place. He has given up trying to focus on his book. “I think I am dying without it.”

    Damen grunts out a response, dismantling the back of the coffee machine with a screwdriver. “You know you could just have the instant stuff from the jar while I’m doing this.”

    Laurent lets the silence stretch on long enough for Damen to grasp the true extent of Laurent’s disgust. “Do you think I’m some sort of barbarian?”

    Damen lets out an over exaggerated sigh, standing up straight. The screwdriver in his hand is caked with sticky coffee residue. “Are you just going to sit there and watch me?”

    “No.” Laurent says, gesturing vaguely to his book. “I was reading but I think I’ve lost the ability to do it without coffee. It’s almost nine thirty and I haven’t had coffee yet, Damen.”

    “Are you doing DIY?” Victor’s voice comes from the doorway, far too happy for this early in the morning. “That’s so cute. I usually hire someone to do it for us.”

    “It’s a coffee machine,” Damen says, returning to the machine. “I’m not going to pay a hundred euros an hour for someone to fix it when I can— _ow_ —when I can do it myself.”

    “Or I would just buy a new one,” Victor says. Damen makes a noise to show he thinks that’s an even worse suggestion. “Good morning.”

    “Is it?” Laurent lets out a long sigh, turning to look at Victor in the doorway. He blinks once, and then twice to make sure he isn’t imagining things. Victor is not dressed (he’s not naked either, he’s been scolded enough times for walking around Damen and Laurent’s apartment in no clothes), instead he is wearing a t-shirt that definitely is not his - if the way it reaches halfway down his thighs is anything to go by. “Is that Damen’s shirt?”

    Damen stands up straight again, raising an eyebrow. He gives Victor a long look from head to toe; from his bare legs up to the faded t-shirt and his messy hair. “That _is_ my shirt.”

    “It suits me better,” Victor says, collapsing into the chair opposite Laurent. “I don’t sleep with any clothes on, and I didn’t want to put my old clothes _back on._ So I stole this from your bedroom. Is there any coffee?”

    Damen gives him a long, incredulous look. “Yeah, the coffee machine is working just fine; I just felt like poking around with it.”

    “ _You could have the instant stuff from the jar, Victor,”_ Laurent says, half-mocking Damen’s voice.

    Victor frowns, the disgust evident on his face.

    “Good morning,” another voice comes from the doorway, significantly less enthusiastic than Victor’s. Yuuri drops down into one of the free chairs and yawns, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses. He, apparently, does not share Victor’s reservations and the clothes he wears are the same ones he wore last night. “Is there any breakfast?”

    “No,” Laurent says. “Damen is fixing the coffee machine.”

    Victor leans his chin on his hand, watching Damen for a long while as he prods at the machine with the screwdriver. “You know,” Victor says, a fascinated tone to his voice. “You almost look like a heterosexual when you do this.”

    Laurent snorts a laugh that has Damen glaring at the three of them, practically brandishing the screwdriver. “Alright, I’m done. It’s broken. If you want coffee, it’ll have to be the instant stuff.” Damen wipes his hands clean on the teatowel. “I’m making breakfast.”

    “You have, uh, coffee on you,” Yuuri says, gesturing vaguely at Damen’s t-shirt. There’s a moment in which Laurent thinks Damen might kill him—and Laurent, with his own coffee-deprived irritation, wouldn’t blame him if he did—but instead, Damen throws the teatowel in Yuuri’s direction and starts to make breakfast.

    Exactly no one is surprised when Nicaise and Yurio show up ten minutes later, scarves wrapped around their faces and drawn in by the smell of food. Nicaise heads immediately for the instant coffee machine, after seeing the disgraceful state of the one on the kitchen floor, and Laurent thinks he might throw up when he sees him throw back half a cup of the God-awful instant coffee that he and Damen had been gifted last Christmas. Yurio takes the seat furthest away from the rest of the group at the table and lets his head fall forward onto the cool surface.

    “Good morning, Yurio,” Laurent says, purposefully honey-sweet and Yurio lets out a groan.

    “All Nicaise had in his fridge was a two week old carton of milk,” Yurio says sourly. “So we had to come here for breakfast.”

    “I let you stay at mine on the condition you do the grocery shopping, asshole,” Nicaise bites back, pouring himself another cup of coffee and sitting down.

    “I thought Yuuri and Laurent did your grocery shopping for you?” Damen glances over his shoulder from the counter. “I’ve seen them do it before.”

    It’s true; Nicaise is undeniably horrible at grocery shopping, or shopping of any form that does not involve clothes, and so to make sure he was eating properly, Laurent would turn up once a week or so with bags of groceries and load up Nicaise’s fridge. More often than not, Laurent would find the fruit and vegetables that he’d dropped off the previous week still unopened in Nicaise’s fridge, but the sentiment was there, and Laurent knows that Nicaise eats plenty of decent food at their apartment, or Victor and Yuuri’s. Occasionally, Laurent would turn up to find Nicaise’s fridge already full with a little note pinned to the fridge in Yuuri’s handwriting.

    Nicaise’s cheeks are pink and he huffs out a breath. “They did.”

    “Last time I turned up with shopping, Nicaise told me if I did it again he would—uh, how do I put it—” Yuuri starts.

    “That I would shove all of the food down your throat until you choked on it and died,” Nicaise says plainly.

    “Yeah, it was something like that,” Yuuri hums. He’d said some similar variation to Laurent. Of course, Laurent knows that Nicaise does not like to be treated like a child, or looked after in any form, but Laurent thinks that sometimes a gentle reminder to take care of himself is needed—it is needed for all of them.

    “Anyway,” Nicaise says, suddenly breaking into a grin—that’s never a good sign—and nudging Yurio. “Did I tell any of you what happened this morning?”

    “Fuck off,” Yurio says, his forehead still pressed to the table. “I’m going to kill you.”

    “Any story that you tell is never a nice story,” Victor says, a sort of wistfulness to his voice. “One day maybe you’ll surprise us all with a nice story.”

    “He made me drink the fucking milk,” Yurio says, suddenly sitting up. “He told me it was fresh milk. Two week old milk. I fucking drank two week old milk. Do you know what two week old milk tastes like in coffee? Fucking shit. It tastes like something has crawled into your mouth and _died there._ ”

    There’s a long moment where Yuuri glances down at his own coffee, with milk and all, and then pushes it away from himself. “I don’t think I want this anymore.”

    “That’s… really unfortunate, Yurio,” Laurent says, as solemnly as he can. Then, he lets his eyes flicker to Nicaise, and smirks. “You took a video, I suspect?”

    “Of course.” Nicaise says casually, as if there was ever any doubt.

    “Can we see?” Victor says with a glint in his eyes that Laurent rarely gets to see. He used to see it a little more when they were younger, and Victor’s playfulness wasn’t restricted by any concerns he had over social morals or reputation.

    “If you show anyone that video I _will_ kill you,” Yurio says, a hard glare in his eyes. “I mean it.”

    “The video will have to wait,” Damen says. “Breakfast is ready.”

    “That’s alright,” Nicaise says, casually leaning back in his chair. There’s something so blase about his movements, something so suspiciously relaxed, that Laurent knows he is doing something particularly cruel. “I will just post it to the group chat so you can all watch it later.”

    “Whatever,” Yurio grumbles, distracted by the plates of food that Damen is setting down in the middle of the table. Laurent inhales; the food smells as good as it looks and Laurent feels a silly spark of gratefulness that Damen always does the cooking for them. Laurent is not a bad chef, but he doesn’t have the home touch that Damen has.

    “Yes, I’ll just— _oops,”_ Nicaise grins. “I accidentally uploaded it to Instagram.”

    “You did—” Yurio blinks, looking up from his food. “ _You did what?!”_

    “Did you see the photo I posted this morning?” Victor asks, trying to lean over to look at Nicaise’s phone. “If it comes up on your timeline, can you like it please? I always tag you in things and you never—”

    “That’s because I blocked you,” Nicaise says, trying to clamber out of his seat to escape Yurio’s vicious grasp. “Like a year and a half ago.”

    “ ** _I’m going to kill you,_ ** ” Yurio cries, almost knocking over his chair as he gets to his feet.

    “This is nice,” Yuuri says mildly as Nicaise and Yurio flee into the next room. “We hardly ever have breakfast all six of us.”

    “They will come back eventually,” Laurent says, reaching for some of the food and putting it onto his own plate. “They are teenagers.”

    “ _I can’t believe he blocked me,”_ Victor whispers after a few moments, a horrified tone to his voice that nearly makes Laurent laugh around his mouthful of food.

    “It’s okay,” Damen reassures him, patting the back of his hand gently. “The rest of us did too.”

    Victor chokes.

* * *

iii.

     _“Don’t you have any fucking food in your house?” Yuri says, his back to the camera as he swings open the fridge in Nicaise’s living room. The coffee machine gurgles on the counter as it heats up._

_“You were supposed to do the grocery shopping,” Nicaise’s voice comes from off screen; from somewhere behind the camera. Yuri’s blond hair is haphazard and unstyled, his dark grey sweatpants hanging low and his shirt creased. He looks as if he only woke up five minutes ago, and Nicaise knows that he did._

_“What the fuck am I supposed to eat?” Yuri says, slamming the fridge door and pouring out a cup of coffee. “_ Блядь _, I bet that milk is old too. I’m not drinking this black.”_

_“No, the milk is fresh,” Nicaise says, a breath of laughter muffling the microphone. “I bought it yesterday for my own coffee.”_

_“You drink it black,” Yuri says, his back still to the camera. He’s oblivious to the fact that Nicaise is filming, and even more oblivious to the reason why._

_“Not always.”_

_“Alright,” Yuri opens the fridge again, pouring some of the milk into his coffee. Nicaise thinks it is truly miraculous that Yuri does not notice that the milk doesn’t look or smell right, but he knows Yuri is particularly oblivious in the mornings, and even more so before his first cup of coffee._

_Yuri still does not notice that Nicaise is filming him when he turns and leans on the edge of the counter, and Nicaise pretends to text to lessen any suspicion about the phone in Nicaise’s hand. He zooms in._

_Yuri takes a long sip from the coffee before something in his face changes. The mug drops to the floor and shatters, hot coffee spilling across off-white tiles._

_“What_ —” _Yuri mumbles something unintelligible and his voice is thick with what can only be nausea. The expression on Yuri’s face is enough to make Nicaise crease up with laughter, the sound of it muffling the audio of the video. “I’m gonna_ —”

     _Yuri turns to the sink and retches._

_“What’s wrong?” Nicaise manages through ripples of laughter. He crosses the kitchen, careful not to step in the coffee, and focuses the camera on Yuri’s face. Yuri’s face is red and he scrubs at his tongue with his fingers._

_“Hell is full of people like you,” Yuri snaps, his tongue half out as he scrubs at it. His eyes are glossy and Nicaise laughs harder; Yuri is going to_ **_cry._ **

_“I_ —” _Nicaise chokes on another breath of laughter._

_“God, fuck,” Yuri drags at his tongue with his fingernails, rubbing handfuls of water into his mouth. “Get that camera away before I fucking kill you. I think I’m going to throw up again.”_

     _Yuri swipes at Nicaise’s phone in his hands and Nicaise makes a noise from behind the camera. To prevent his phone from being damaged any further, he switches the camera off._

       _He captions the video '_ **N** **icaise Nasino - 1, Yuri Plisetsky - 0. Better luck next time ♥'**

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find us on tumblr: [alex](http://casxade.tumblr.com) / [emma](http://yuriplitsesky.tumblr.com)


End file.
